Recruiter
by Tobiasven
Summary: Riley is recruited for the Initiative.


**Story Title:** Recruiter  
**Characters:** Riley and Lawson  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, prolly not yours.  
**Summary:** Riley gets recruited for the Initiative.  
**Author's Note:** Riley has always amused me in an 'OMG why can't you salute' way. Lawson is a fascination as the only vamp sired while Angel had a soul. Putting these two service members in the same room just sounds like fun.

The twelve by sixteen foot room was small for one person but when the Army crammed four people into the space, it was very cramped. Riley had his own room in Iowa, quiet and comfortable. The four man bunk was better than the thirty man open floor barrack at basic but it still wasn't sleep inducing.

Riley could still count the number of weeks away from home on his fingers and toes. Homesick, and tired and they hadn't stopped yelling. He hadn't cried since he was six but every night listening to his roommates' snores made him want to crack.

He pulled the pillow over his head at the sounds of muted pleasure above him. He peered down as his unresponsive body and felt a small twinge of jealously. It wasn't unexpected and the phenomenon was even given its very own briefing.

Riley could pinpoint the moment that his balls crawled up into his body. They still hadn't decided to crawl back out yet. The Drill Sergeants had been cold and clinical on the details of stress, fear, and exhaustion on a young body. It may have been normal but he didn't appreciate the knowledge that some men recovered faster than others.

He rolled out of bed into his boots ignoring the terrified squeak from the bunk above. He grabbed his BDU blouse and escaped the room. Outside the door he quickly tied his boots and buttoned his blouse. Three weeks and he still wasn't allowed to even touch his civvies.

Bored and wide-awake at two o'clock in the morning wasn't the best place to be when the day started at four. Left with the option of staring numbly at the television in the day room or annoying the barrack's guard, he chose the guard. If he remembered correctly Gates was on duty and that man was always good for a story.

Riley wandered down the stairs a march still in his step no matter what he tried to do. Tucked in a corner under the stairwell were the guard station and a sleeping Gates. Regulations warred in his head. Don't sleep on guard duty vs. take care of your own. Going to the Drill Sergeant would get Gates in a ton of trouble…along with the rest of the squad.

"Private, wake up. Gates, up!" He kicked politely at the sleeping soldier and Gates jerked up with a choking cough. He sucked in a ragged breath as if he had forgotten to breathe. "Oh, shit man. What happened?"

"You fell asleep."

"No. I didn't. This Navy officer came in and asked for Drill Sergeant O'Shea and then I…fell asleep." Gates looked supremely confused. "I wasn't tired, Finn. I had coffee. I was awake, very."

Riley nodded. He gazed toward the double doors and the night Drill Sergeant's office. "There was a Navy officer?" There weren't many sailors on the Fort and they avoided the AIT students like the plague.

"Yeah, I thought it was weird too. And I fell asleep. That ain't right. I should have escorted him back there."

Something wasn't right. He could feel it. "I'll check on Sergeant O'Shea, just stay awake."

Gates stood up and hopped a few times. "I'll be fine, Private Finn."

Riley ignored Gate's snippy attitude and quietly slipped through the double doors. He tiptoed down the long hall of quiet offices. It felt weird and forbidden. Any other time he would be pressed against the walls doing his best to be ignored while Drill Sergeants and officers bustled from office to office.

The dark only made the hall eerie; the quiet made it all the more intimidating. The only light was from a flickering exit sign and an office near the back. Boots squeaked on the rubber mat floor and Riley cringed, halting. Voices echoed hollowly to his ears.

"And he said, it's forty miles to shore the eight hours to dawn. Get out." A man chuckled. "And the Captain got shoved out right after me."

"You know you get farther from shore each time you tell it." Riley felt his balls retreat a little more at the sound of Drill Sergeant O'Shea's voice. Really the man could do terrifying well.

"It bears some beefing up. Another?"

"God, yes." There was the sound of liquid being poured. "I thought I'd punched my clock when you walked in here."

"I'm on the wagon."

Riley stalked closer and peered into the small conference room. O'Shea was slouched down in his chair, cheeks drinking red. The Navy man was a butter bar and Riley kicked himself for not memorizing Navy rank.

The man was thin and pale like he hadn't been eating well and his working khakis made him look washed out rather than intimidating. His dark hair was almost out of regs and his shoes were brown rather than the normal black. The butter bar kept spinning the top to the bottle of rum beside him.

It was all very informal and he had the passing thought that O'Shea shouldn't be drinking on watch. It was a rule up there with fraternizing with officers but there were so many loopholes around fraternization that Riley hadn't quite wrapped his head around. Either way the situation seemed very, very wrong.

The butter bar's head came up swiftly and turned on Riley. "Soldier?"

"Sir. Drill Sergeant." Riley snapped to attention his eyes on the wall. "Private Gates was worried so I said I'd check on you."

"Go back to bed, Finn," O'Shea said. The Sergeant's voice trembled, as he had never heard it.

"Just a minute, Timothy. Let the boy stay. At east," the officer commanded. "You haven't been here long, have you Finn."

Riley relaxed into parade rest and glanced at the officer's nametag. It would be easier if he could at least name the man. Lawson. "No, Sir."

Lawson leaned back and closed one eye. Riley felt a shiver run up his spine. It reminded him of the time he came face to face with a black bear. All the more terrifying when it wasn't supposed to be there. "Three or four weeks out, I'd guess."

O'Shea leaned forward scraping his chair loudly across the linoleum. "You're good. How did you figure it out?"

Lawson tapped his nose. "Smell." Lawson and O'Shea shared a laugh even if O'Shea's was a little more strained.

O'Shea kept glancing at him fear evident in his eyes and Riley knew something was wrong even before he had walked in. He tried to remember everything he had learned in the past thirteen weeks that would help his Drill Sergeant, but he was coming up with a blank.

Lawson turned his amused grin to Riley. "Do you want a drink?"

"I'm eighteen, sir," he said in a state of mild shock. It was already so far out of his realm of understanding that he couldn't breathe.

"That's not a no."

Riley glanced at O'Shea and the Sergeant gave a small shrug. "No, sir."

Lawson poured two more shots and slid one across the table. O'Shea grabbed the shot and sucked it down without even glancing at Riley.

"Where you from, soldier?" Lawson asked.

Riley sighed with relief. These were questions he was used to answering. "Iowa."

"What's up there, corn and corn?"

"It's all farm country, sir. We also have cows." He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. It was a matter of pride to defend the home state.

"California," Lawson said as if a question had been asked.

"New York," O'Shea said, "and I'd like to go back there one day. I'm sure Finn would like to visit."

Lawson laid a sly grin on the Drill Sergeant and O'Shea visibly shrank back. Riley's fear went up a notch as a sailor cowed the man he feared most on the fort. "So why did you join up, Soldier Finn?"

"To protect my country, sir."

Lawson smiled. "Don't give me the party line. Tell me the truth."

Riley hadn't even thought about it. It was just something men in his town did. He looked directly at Lawson and his deep brown curious eyes. "I love my family, sir. I want to keep them safe."

Lawson moved his head in an odd tilt. "That's what I like to hear."

"If I may, sir? Why did you join?" Riley asked before he could censure himself. He really should know better than questioning outranking personnel.

Lawson gave him a lazy grin. "I love my country."

"Still?" O'Shea asked.

"Until my dieing breath." An expression of sadness flickered across his face. "And still."

Riley knew he was missing something or he really didn't get Navy humor. He really didn't know what to think of this man.

"What about you?" Lawson turned to O'Shea. "I've never asked."

O'Shea didn't answer immediately but took another shot of rum. "It's a family business isn't it? Gramps a helmsman. Da was a nuke and I get seasick."

"So you sit around yelling at trainees?"

"And avoiding you, yeah." The Drill Sergeant seemed to be leaking out again under false courage.

Lawson turned to O'Shea his voice stone cold. "Don't get snippy. It's very rude."

O'Shea visibly paled at the reprimand.

Riley shifted uncomfortably. He didn't think a butter bar had that much power, a butter bar in a sister service. He thought longingly of the warm, scratchy bed he left behind.

"You're military police?" Lawson asked.

Riley flinched, alarmed that his mind had wandered. "Yes, sir."

"Boring gig at a guard shack checking i.d's," Lawson said.

O'Shea was glaring at the officer and it was coming close to insubordination. "Sam, no. You can't recruit here."

"Quiet, Timmy." Lawson snapped. He turned completely around in his chair all his focus on Riley. "Did you think you'd be off to war? Or helping the home grown out during floods and earthquakes? National Guard stuff."

Riley stood up straighter. It was his job. He put everything he had into learning everything about being an army cop. He wasn't about to let a sailor make less of it. "It's an important mission," he grated out.

Lawson's grin was absolutely feral and his eyes flashed yellow. "I can give you a better mission."

-fin(n)


End file.
